


Mea Hoʻopihapiha

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 7.04, Angst, Dark Thoughts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Feels, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gift Fic, Introspection, Love through comfort food, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve is a trouble magnet but it's not his fault, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, post transplant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 19:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: Steve keeps startling awake, fragments of disturbing dreams hanging just beyond the grasp of his consciousness. He feels incredibly weary, tired upon tired. He doesn’t even need Danny ranting at him to know this is just too much in too short a time, for any sane person to endure. Not that Danny will hold back when he gets back from Jersey.Tag to 7.04, the one where Steve gets stabbed in the back, litterally.





	Mea Hoʻopihapiha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgharison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/gifts).

> This is a gift to my friend BGHarison. A gift about friendship.
> 
> My dear BG, you have no IDEA how much your friendship has meant to me in the last few months. You have been my mea hoʻopihapiha, my Bringer of Light.
> 
> I hope I can show you in person how much I appreciate your frienship when you come to visit.
> 
> Initially, this was a Tumblr ask box fic. See the prompt at the end!

* * *

The moment the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac, Danny pulls out his cell phone. His thumb hovers over the power button till the pilot gives the go-ahead to turn on electronics but the moment his phone’s on, he calls Steve. He doesn’t care that it’s barely past 6 A.M.

“Hey Danny! How was your flight?”

Kono? “Kono? Why the hell are you answering Steve’s phone?” Danny barks. It occurs to him, vaguely, that he’s being rude but worry over Steve takes precedence, because he was worried _before_ someone _other than Steve answered Steve’s phone. _Now, he’s freaking out, because last he heard, Steve was _missing._

“Oh! Right. You don’t know.”

“No I don’t know! I was on a freakin’ plane for eight hours!”

“Right, sorry. Steve’s home, resting. Why I have his phone is… a bit complicated. But he’s fine. Other than the stab wound and the concussion.”

“Concuss… Sta- STAB WOUND!” Danny shouts, as he pulls his carry-on from the overhead bin, drawing startled looks from nearby fellow passengers. He glares at them, gesturing to the badge on his belt with his baggage-laden hand. “What stab wound?”

He tries to listen patiently as Kono tells him a wild story about Alicia Brown and Steve stumbling onto their killer, and for once, she explains, Steve isn’t the one who went after a suspect without backup, which somehow ties in to how Kono ended up with Steve’s phone in the first place.

Now, Steve’s home with a dozen or so stitches in his back, a concussion and orders to rest for a week.

“I’m actually surprised he hasn’t shown up here to give his official statement yet. But maybe that’s because Gray blew up his truck and none of us thought to pick him up!” Kono says with a laugh.

“She blew up his truck?” Danny crows, astonished.

“Yup. Toasted it.”

“Wow. It’s a wonder he hasn’t stolen my car then.”

“Yeah, it’s a wonder.”

“All right, I think I’ve heard enough for now. I mean, with the red-eye and all so… I’ll catch you later.”

“Later Danny.”

He hangs up and quickens his steps through baggage claim full of awed, lost and jet-lagged tourists. He’s got somewhere to be and it isn’t his place.

Steve McGarrett, small children and idiots, Danny thinks. Yeah, the Lord has a special fondness for those.

* * *

Steve doesn’t really sleep. He dozes, on and off, in too much pain to truly rest. He’d take painkillers if he could but a still healing liver means there are a lot of meds he _can’t_ take and the concussion takes another bunch off the table so he has to suffer through this time.

He keeps startling awake, fragments of disturbing dreams hanging just beyond the grasp of his consciousness. He feels incredibly weary, tired upon tired. He doesn’t even need Danny ranting at him to know this is just too much in too short a time, for any sane person to endure. Not that Danny will hold back when he gets back from Jersey.

Like he needs to be told.

He sighs as he tries to fall asleep _again_.

Not that there’s much left to his sanity, his patience, hell, his mental health in general.

The job’s already taken so much from him; why more? Why now? Why does it always have to be him that had to go and get kidnapped and stabbed?

He growls as he turns over, punching his pillow, biting back a curse as the stiches in his back pull and burn. He tries not to think, not to let his mind run in endless, useless circles that do nothing but aggravate the headache pounding through his skull but it’s no use.

The sun’s barely up but he’s had enough of not sleeping and tossing and turning and of constantly accidentally bumping the wound on his back or any of his other bruises and contusions.

He shoves out of bed with another frustrated grunt and pads down the stairs, sitting on his recliner with a wince when wounds and scars, both old and new, pull. His freshly stitched back hurts, throbbing in time with his heart. His chest aches, the huge surgical incision barely healed and the bullet scars not much better after just twelve weeks. The new skin is still red, fragile and tender, the muscles underneath barely knitted together, painful still.

No one knows the doctors told him to take a minimum of four to six months off to recuperate and heal. It’s been four, but he didn’t really take any time off so maybe that’s why he still feels so weak.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t even overpower an HPD shrink.

Maybe that’s why a sixty-some year-old serial killer got the upper-hand on him and managed to throw him down a vent hole and almost drown him and Alicia Brown.

Yeah, some badass Navy SEAL _he _is, now.

No, now he’s just a pathetic, _useless_, _weak_ civilian, because he sure as hell can’t even do his job as a _cop_ right.

He can’t really lean back in the seat because of the stitches so he leans forward, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He feels bruised, both inside and out.

He’s so damn tired, all the damn time.

Despite the warmth of the morning, he shivers, feverish.

He needs to take his antibiotics. For that, he needs to eat because taking them on an empty stomach guarantees he’ll puke them up.

For _that_, the headache and nausea from the concussion need to dial back a few notches and for that?

He needs to _sleep._

He blows out another long, exhausted, frustrated, discouraged breath.

He used to be resilient. Tough as nails. Nothing could break his mental fortitude.

He used to be a goddamn US Navy SEAL.

_Used_ to be.

Then, he took three high-caliber rounds from a Heckler & Koch MG43 7.62x51mm caliber machine gun.

One of those rounds exploded his liver, shred it to ribbons.

Then, everything changed.

Now? Now, he’s… just a guy.

He’s nothing.

He can’t take a couple of old coots in hand to hand anymore.

He fucking can’t even _sleep at night._

Nightmares.

Nightmares in which he gets shot, over and over again, feeling his blood gush out and leak out to the floor of a dying plane, feeling his body go cold, feeling himself die, over and over and over.

The front door opens and he jumps, startled all the way to jumping to his feet, moving to the gun hidden behind the TV. He’s got it aimed at the figure in the threshold even before he can blink.

“Hey ho! Whoa there superSeal! It’s me! Put the gun down!”

“Danny.” The name escapes his lips in a thin puff of air and all the adrenaline leaves him as quick as it came. He lets his arms drop, gun pointing at the floor. His shoulders drop and his whole body sags as the aches and pains register again. He takes a step and sits on the arm of the sofa, letting his head drop forward. “Man. You scared the shit outta me.”

There are a few long seconds of quiet and Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to get yelled at for pointing a gun at his partner, and for the entire Dr Gray debacle.

“Speaking of, you look like shit yourself,” Danny says finally, but his tone is quiet, soft… It’s not an intonation he’s heard often in his partner’s voice. It’s usually reserved for his kids.

He still holds himself a little stiffly, expecting a rant, expecting to be berated for not being careful with Danny’s preciously gifted liver, for getting hurt again, for…

“Hey. Babe. You feeling okay?” Danny’s voice is asking, from really close by this time.

There’s a calloused hand, put gently under his chin and Steve realizes he got lost in his head for a minute. His eyes close without him meaning them to. A kind, soft touch feels so very comforting…

“I… yeah. I’m just… Tired.”

The hand moves to his forehead and it takes all he has not to lean into the touch.

“You feel warm. You got a fever?”

“I… Yeah, maybe. Sea water in the knife wound with my depressed immune system. They gave me antibiotics. Look, Danny, I’m taking care of the liver, all right? I didn’t do this on purpose, I-“

“Hey, hey, shhh, S’okay, relax, relax,” Danny cuts in, putting his other hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Kono told me what happened. Not your fault. Okay?”

“Okay,” he murmurs, “okay. Fuck, Danny. I’m so damn tired,” he blurts.

“Yeah. I gotcha. So, order of things. Shower, food, meds, sleep. That about what you need?”

“Too uncomfortable to sleep,” Steve mutters, suddenly aware that the only things holding him steady on the couch’s arm are _Danny’s_ arms, the strong, warm hands on his shoulders. 

“We’ll fix that. C’mon. I’ll help you upstairs. If I let you go by yourself you’re likely to miss a step and tumble right back down and then where would we be?” Danny says as he pulls Steve to his feet and somehow, it hits him wrong.

Steve opens his eyes and lifts his head up, giving Danny a mutinous look. “I’m not that much of an invalid, Danny. I can get a damn shower by myself,” he growls, shrugging off Danny’s grip.

“Whoa, hey! I was just trying to be nice, babe, don’t go biting my head off. You were just looking a bit woozy. I was just concerned.”

“I’m fine, Danny,” he snaps, heading for the stairs. He doesn’t exactly stumble but he doesn’t walk steadily either and he has to stop once he reaches the foot of the stairs, dizziness from the concussion making the room spin. It gives him time to realize he’s snapping at Danny for no reason at all.

He blows out a long exhale and stills, letting the dizzy spell pass. “I’m sorry. I’m just… Irritable. Damn concussion…”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, keeping his back to Danny. This keeps happening. He keeps apologizing for being snappish and harsh with the guy who saved his life.

“It’s okay, Steve. Go shower. I’ll be here.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He goes upstairs slowly and peels off his sweat-laden tank top and sleep pants, stepping into a cool shower. It washes the sweat off his skin and doesn’t sting too much on the stiches in his back and he figures it’ll even probably help washing off debris from his shirt or the bed or the couch, or from the wound itself. He can feel it, swollen, puffed and painful with inflammation and the beginnings of infection. He knows from experience that keeping it clean and dry is best but that hydrotherapy can also be beneficial, so he plays the line between.

Moving through his shower is hard though; the bruises have deepened, and his muscles have stiffened. When he steps out though, he hears noise in his bedroom.

“Danny? That you?”

“Yeah. Come on out here. I found the pharmacy bag in the kitchen. I got your bandage stuff. Towel _on_, Steven.”

Steve ducks his head and smiles, holding back a laugh as he secures the towel around his hips. Part of him is tempted to walk out of the bathroom naked just to shock Danny. God, it feels good to laugh. They’ve shared the locker room at work a few times so it’s not like they haven’t seen each other totally naked before, after all.

He emerges from the steamed-up bathroom to find Danny sitting on his bed, sorting through the various bandages and pill bottles.

“Okay,” Danny says breezily, “sit. I’ll clean and dress that cut and then we’ll go down and eat. C’mon. Sit down.”

He doesn’t even consider arguing and lets himself be bossed around and manhandled by his partner. Truth be told, he’s glad for the care. It feels nice and is such a change from the dark thoughts in his head.

Danny chatters and scolds and mutters as he gently cleans and bandages the slice in his back and Steve’s falling asleep sitting up through it all.

“Hey,” Danny says with a shove. “No sleeping yet. Food. Meds. Downstairs.”

“God, you’re bossy,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. Come on. I am making you breakfast. You do not get to complain. Get some clothes on and get downstairs. Food.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, getting to his feet.

Danny’s soft laughter wafts up from the stairs.

He takes his time getting into sweats and into his favourite zipped up sweater, so he doesn’t have to deal with getting a shirt over his head.

He slowly makes his way downstairs and finds Danny in the dining room, setting two bowls on the table, next to steaming cups of coffee. Steve doesn’t care about drinking coffee before trying to sleep. Caffeine is the least of his problems and Danny knows it. Besides, caffeine helps with headaches. Steam is also curling up from the two bowls, the aroma sweet, cinnamon-y… There’s maybe… Banana too?

“Good! You’re just in time,” Danny says, lifting his head up. “I made us something simple. Comforting. Easy on the stomach too, since I figured your stomach’s probably already iffy, with the concussion and the drugs…”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replies, sitting down slowly, wincing all the way. God, he’s sore and bruised to _hell_. He allows himself a long groan, as the late morning sun brightens the living room, dialing up his headache, but the bowl in front of him smells amazing.

“So… What’s this?”

“The William’s family special banana oatmeal. It’s got a few secret ingredients but it’s nutritious, easy on the stomach and most important, it’s good. Now eat.”

Steve stares at the bowl for a couple of seconds. He’s not the biggest fan of oatmeal, but it does smell really good. So, he grabs the spoon resting next to the bowl and digs in.

The flavour explodes on his tongue. Wow. It’s insanely good for something so simple as oatmeal. But as he chews, he gets a hit of… Coconut?

“D’jou… put coconut in this?” he asks through the mouthful he’s still chewing. Which, oatmeal, so what comes out of his mouth is a muffled mumble that is barely recognizable as words but somehow, Danny gets what he’s asking.

“Did I use coco… Hey! No talking with your mouth full, animal! Even Charlie knows better! And yeah. I used coconut syrup instead of honey. I figured you’d like that,” Danny says with a crooked smile, despite the scolding.

Steve dutifully swallows before speaking again. “This is really good.”

“Told ya.”

They finish their breakfast in silence and as Steve is scraping his bowl clean, Danny deposits handfuls of pill bottles on the table.

“You want water to swallow those or is the coffee okay, because you haven’t touched it?”

Steve shakes his head, about to ask for the water when it all hits him. Why isn’t Danny yelling? Why’s Danny being so calm? So kind?

Suddenly, he’s kinda scared, because when volcanoes go quiet, you should run. So he asks.

“Is this the killing me with kindness thing? Before the actual killing?”

Danny frowns at him, looking confused.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You. Being kind. Making me the oatmeal, the bandages, the whole, being nice thing,” Steve gestures expansively. “Not that I don’t… Appreciate it. I do.”

Danny sighs, shaking his head, looking… He doesn’t know that look. “You’re a trouble magnet.”

“Oh, okay, here we go,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, irritated. He should have known.

“Shut up. You asked, so listen.”

“You attract trouble, like a magnet attracts metal. It’s just the nature of the beast. Not the magnet’s fault. Like it _isn’t yours._ Okay? Kono told me what happened. You had to go after Brown. I just… wish you’d let the guys know where you were going but… I also wish you got a break. So I’m giving you one. I’m taking care of my buddy, instead of giving him the rant he so rightfully deserves. So now, take your pills so we can go veg out on your couch and fall asleep watching some crappy TV. Okay?”

Steve can only nod, oddly touched.

“Good. Now take your pills.”

“Can I have some water, please, Danno?” he asks, just… because he wants water.

“Yeah, sure babe.”

An hour later, when they’re, as planned, vegging on the couch, and Steve’s tucked in the corner just so, so there’s no pressure on the wound on his back, and most of his bruises don’t hurt too much, and just as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns his head to catch Danny’s eye.

“Hey Danno?”

“Hmm? Yeah babe?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

“Hm.”

The thing is, Steve knows it’s true, no matter how much he was expecting that rant. No matter how much he accuses Danny of being a Black Hole of Negativity, Danny’s his shining beacon of friendship, and they will always be there to pull each other up. Always. Because that is what friendship is. He’s heard a proverb somewhere about friendship and it fits Danny and him pretty good, he thinks

_Friendship, like phosphorus, shines brightest when all around is dark._

He was lost in the darkness in his head, and Danny, somehow, without knowing, showed up, and dragged him out of the depths, and took care of him. So maybe it’s a sign. Maybe he’ll be okay, in time. As he falls asleep, he thinks that maybe with his friend there, at his side, he’ll make it.

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope you liked this.
> 
> Now, here is the prompt BG sent me. It's not *exactly* how she wanted me to start, but I figure it was close enough!
> 
> Prompt:  
After the Alicia stabbing / near drowning experience, Danny can't get Steve on the phone so he goes to check on on him -- and it's a good thing he did, because he finds Steve . . .
> 
> Now, please let me know what you think!


End file.
